He Stole my Laptop



(The gift)

I was in a cafe in Dublin today. I ordered my tea (giving coffee a wide berth for a while) and noticed the cashier wasn’t giving me her full attention. Her eyes had drifted from my face to something behind me. Then I heard the words “he stole my laptop“. We were both looking behind me now.


(Last summer’s rose)

At a tall young man making his way to the front door with three young women in hot pursuit… and the manager…. but no laptop.  Sometimes it’s hard to be precise in the excitement of the moment…. The young man slipped through the door, he didn’t have a laptop.



When he was gone the words were, “he stole my laptop, but I got it back” and although five people saw the man all we remembered were his clothes, “bright yellow” and a faint sense of excitement or panic. Ours? His? Which pieces are real in our memories? Which pieces do we make up, leave out or change….. to fit the jigsaw of confusion? Our minds want a story with a beginning, middle and end. Not the most useful story, not the true story, not the easy story…. but any story and if it has drama, all the better.

Fool your mind – make up a new story, Mairead.